Colours to an Unkind Wind
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: She had always measured the moments of her life in colours-until it became mere shades of gray. In the midst of a war, Belle finds brightness once more. Belle/Rumpel. One-shot.


**Colours to an Unkind Wind**

**Belle/Rumpel**

**Maaaaaybe a one-shot? Maybe?**

**We'll see. It's really up to you.**

**DISCLAIMER: OUAT doesn't belong to me. Oh, how I wish…..**

**Enjoy, and please review!**

**-XXX-**

The day her father announced her engagement to the court, Belle wore gray. It was a clear symbol-she was not the least bit happy with the arrangement. Gaston had complimented her absent-mindedly as he preened to the crowd of nobles, saying the dove-coloured fabric perfectly matched her eyes. Which were blue-green. Not that he particularly cared.

It was a lovely colour. The shade of an on-coming storm, quivering baby rabbits, dove wings. Soft.

The day her father had told her—-alone, in the afternoon, in the garden - - - -she had been wearing a plain pink day-dress. The colour that spoke of innocence. The blush of youth. Her nurse had often said it gave her rosy cheeks, and made her entire being glow wonderfully.

Hair plaited in one long braid, she'd look like child, and felt impossibly young when disappointment rose to her mouth. Her father held her hand while she swallowed it away. But no tears were allowed. This was an…opportunity. A bright, new future.

Later she cried, alone, in the pasture, clinging to her hound Bulcupulas.

The dawn-pink gown- - - - the colour of mornings she would never anticipate again - - - -was naturally muddied by the sympathetic dog. Ruined. She was never to wear it again. Which suited Belle fine.

When Gaston kissed her for the first time, Belle wore a purple, long-sleeved creation with a high collar. She had felt like covering herself up as much as possible when in his presence. Gaston made her feel….edgy. Fiancés weren't supposed to feel like that, were they?

It was just outside of her room, after the last ball of the season. The last ball for many seasons, incidentally, for the Ogre Wars would fall upon them in only a few months' time. There wouldn't be dancing for a long time. Belle would missing it, though not nearly as much as she would miss peace.

He had paused before her door and lowered his wide, wet mouth to hers. The experience was quite unpleasant. She was glad it was not her first kiss. That had been playfully stolen by their youngest groom when she was thirteen. In this kiss, Belle backed out as quickly as possible, escaping to her room. Once the door was sealed, she wildly discarded the modest drew to her closet, making note to wear far more dowdy things in the future.

Soon, the hundred-year-long Ogre War found its way to their providence. After the first attack, her father was to be found spending almost every day locked in his rarely-utilized war room. Advisors, lords, and Gaston attended to him. And, eventually, Belle. Somehow, she found herself in the middle of strategy sessions, meeting with generals, taking notes, pushing figurines across table-sized maps of the kingdom, ordering late dinners, debating with men twice—-or even three-times her age.

And she loved it.

She took to wearing strict woolen day dresses in dull greens, navy, brows. Military garb. A frilly and fussy woman wouldn't be taken seriously in war room. Still, a number of then refused to honestly consider her words. They saw her presence as a father's indulgence upon his only daughter. She was, in their eyes, an upstart. An impertinent pest who knew nothing of battle.

"_Young Woman-"_ They always said this as though it was proper title. _"-leave the business to those who have better sensibilities on the nature of war."_

"_My dear, the troubles of the nation mustn't both your lovely head. Return to your sewing, over there, in the corner."_

"_My Lady Belle, leave us-"_

"_Belle, you know nothing of armies-"_

"_My dear-"_

The fuddled old fools drove her mad. Gaston was, by far, the worst.

But she persisted. One day, no matter what anyone said, it would be she who held claim to this castle. She would held the power, who lead the armies, the lords, who directed balls and feasts, who could order everyone- - - -from the snotty Duke of Ellswood to the meekest milkmaid- - - -in this blasted place around.

Then came the day when the fire-sky approached their castle. A great scarlet haze that smelled of war; blood, iron, mud, fire, ash, and misery. Everyone within the walls of her father's fortress cowered with fear, whether they did so openly or alone, behind closed doors.

A meeting was called in the war room. Belle was not summoned. But nevertheless, she came.

That morning, when she woke to see the fire-sky outside of the castle walls, looming overhead, Belle made a selfish decision. She felt…pressure. A bad omission, coming toward her. Digging through her wardrobe, the young woman pushed pasted her dull and shapeless, drab and dowdy, to find something bright. Colourful. A reminder of the days before war scarred their land.

Let them stare.

She came dressed in yellow- - - - the colour of gladness the kingdom lacked, gladness the people needed, the colour of the sun, the colour of _light_- - - - and swept into the chamber silently. Silken fabric pooled around her when she halts. It was an imposing dress. Golden silk dips past her shoulders. It drips down her figure deliciously. Crystals edged the low neckline. They glittered, much like her dangerously narrowed eyes. She feels like a _lady _again, instead of a _general. _

They stared.

They told her that there was nothing left; he was coming. Her father had summoned him.

"_Please help us. We're dying."_

The imp threw those words back mockingly, lounging in her father's chair. He arrived in a gust of air and fright and noise. Belle took an instant liking to him. This was mixed with a mild revulsion. He was cautiously charming-like a very pretty snake.

"….I want her."

And so Belle went. To save her providence, her people, and herself. To find bravery.

She took to wearing blue. A robin's egg blue. He remarked upon it, saying it must have reflected her emotions, as well as her eyes. But she knew better. Blue was freedom like the sky was freedom, like the sea was freedom. Like air was independence. It didn't represent tears or sadness. Blue was positively light.

And blue was also her most favourite colour, right after gold.

**-XXX-**

**I've written more, but it may become a one-shot, or a second chapter. Which would you prefer? **

**Please review! I was thinking, perhaps, if I had enough of a reaction, I might make a series of one-shots based off of people's favourite colours . For my DW fans, I did this with Cravings- - - which, might I add, I still haven't finished with roughly 8 left. However, I think this will be far easier to do. So, leave me a review with your colour- - - I shan't do doubles, sorry-and a which POV you would prefer (that is subject to change) and I will get on it. **

**Thanks loads, I hope you've enjoyed this. **


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